


Oh, But Aren't You Already My Darling?

by fluffernutter8



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Steggy Positivity Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 07:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15384114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy faked a relationship, and one time they didn’t.





	Oh, But Aren't You Already My Darling?

_i._

The fact that it is not at all her job doesn’t stop anyone from assigning Peggy the task of bringing Private Rogers to his lodgings for the night. She understands that things are a bit chaotic after the assassination this afternoon (and she certainly has her own sorrow about losing Erskine) and that working with Rogers requires a high clearance level. She also knows for a fact that there are people (men) of lower rank who could escort him, and yet she’s been ordered to do it.

“Thank you for this,” Rogers says. It’s the first thing she’s heard him say in a long while, certainly since they were put into the car with orders to return to SSR headquarters tomorrow morning for testing. “I’m sure you had other things to do.”

“I do,” she acknowledges, not willing to demur for his comfort or conscience. “But I’ll get to them as well. We’re putting you up just a few blocks from here, so as long as you don’t require me to plump your pillows, I’ll be through in plenty of time.”

He smiles a little, and she’s strangely comforted that the man she’s started to know is still in there. “No pillow plumping, but if they give me a room with ugly wallpaper, we’d better hope you’re willing to fight for a new one.”

She hadn’t expected such a directly amusing response. She laughs, but it stops abruptly as the driver of their car reports, “We’ve run into the police barricade.”

“Of course.” That the HYDRA agent had been undercover rather than storming the SSR facility hadn’t mattered to Senator Brandt, nor that it was better to keep these things as quiet as possible for public good and as an espionage tactic. He had demanded police presence in the surrounding area, as if hundreds of Nazi spies might suddenly decide to throw off their masks and attack.

The policeman shines his flashlight into the window on Rogers’s side, waiting for him to crank it open. “Evening, fella,” he says, taking a quick glance over Peggy and the driver but focusing on Steve, still disheveled in an undershirt and too-small pants. “We’re on the lookout tonight. You know about that trouble by the water?”

Sounding tired and yet as if he can’t avoid taking an impertinent tone, Rogers replies, “I heard a little something.”

The officer bristles at the way Rogers doesn’t seem impressed or intimidated. “Well then I’m sure you know it was a big problem, big enough for a _United States senator_ to take a _personal interest_. We’re all taking it real seriously, so I might wonder what a man such as yourself was doing looking so disordered, sitting in such a fancy car next to a pretty lady.”

At this point, he seems a bit baffled about exactly what he’s accusing Rogers of (are they meant to having a torridly romantic assignation, or spying?), and Rogers is starting to look as if he’d like to give him something specific for which to arrest him. Peggy nearly wants to let him, but she decides better of it; she doesn’t have the time to clean up a mess, and considering the effects of the serum, even a single punch might do some significant damage.

She can’t very well mention who Steve is in specific, and even mentioning that he is a soldier is touchy: if someone took a good look at his technically uniform pants, it would be hard to explain why they are so small. Sizing up the officer, and realizing that Senator Brandt would likely have planted a suspicion of badges in the heads of the police, she leans over so that not only her face but her uniform becomes apparent in the light. “I apologize, Officer. My fiance has had a tremendously tiring day - as you can see, he was in a bus accident on the way from Pennsylvania - and we were just on the way to bring him to his hotel.”

“Your fiance, huh?” The policeman peers in closely, still suspicious. Peggy’s hand rests on top of Steve’s in the middle seat, as if it has always been there. She pinches Steve subtly to get him to stop gaping about it. “How’d a Pennsylvania boy meet a Brit like you?”

“A dairy exchange,” she says promptly, keeping it casual, as if she had been asked by a friend at a party. “His father and the dairy farmers consortium wanted to send a representative to see the famous Jersey cows, and I happened to be visiting a friend who’s a milkmaid.”

“It was all very lucky,” Steve manages, leaning toward her awkwardly. Despite his lack of actual acting skill, his instinct is good.

“And now of course I’m being posted back to England for my war work, so we wanted to get a chance to say goodbye, and see the city once more.” She blinks up a few tears just so they rest in her eyes. “Considering the situation in Jersey, it could be quite a while before they’re hosting farmers again.”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Don’t sound like that, sweetheart,” he says. He does a decent job of sounding brave and nicely supportive, although he might as well have stolen his lines from a propaganda film. “With our countries working together, we’ll have those stormtroopers off your pretty island in no time.”

“You did promise me a honeymoon there,” she says, settling against him. Despite his swim earlier in the day, and the newness of his muscles, it’s actually quite a comfortable place to be.

“I’m sure you’ll get it, honey.” The policeman, when she looks over toward him, seems to have been truly affected by the charade: he has real tears in his eyes to match her fake ones. “Now, you go on through and get him settled in.”

“Thank you,” she says prettily, and elbows Steve until he does the same. The driver, snorting quietly, steers them past the barricade.

After a few minutes of quiet, she says, “My dairy farmer fiance. I can’t believe he bought that. If a real Nazi spy showed up, I don’t know if our officer friend could be counted on to notice a tattoo of Hitler.”

“Let’s hope the rest of the force is doing a better job protecting the city, or everyone might come back from overseas and find the place turned into New Nuremberg behind their backs.”

They pull up in front of what looks like an average rooming house, the only light visible from a small desk lamp on the ground floor.

“When you go inside, just ask for Eleanor,” Peggy instructs. “And when she asks you how your trip was, say that you’re lucky to only be this late as you had trouble finding a cab.”

“Is there an SSR division that’s just innocent-looking older ladies acting as bodyguards?” he asks, looking out at his home for the night.

“Well, I do need a role to aspire to in my old age,” she tells him.

Steve laughs and steps out of the car, but leans back into the space of the open door. “Thanks for all of your help. In training, and today, and just now.”

“My pleasure,” she says, “and my job.”

“The dairy farmer sounds pretty lucky. You built him a great life.” He looks around down the darkened street, houses closed up for the night, and then says quietly, “You know, if he’d seen us driving together this morning, he probably wouldn’t have believed any of it. That I could milk cows, or get a girl like you.”

In the dim light, she can see that his face has lost the humor. He just looks tired now, and sad. She wonders how long it will take him to sleep. “As far as I’m concerned, the story was equally plausible then and now.”

The smile he gives is still tired, but seems genuine. She imagines that whichever Eleanor is on duty tonight will insist on feeding him a hot supper, and she’s glad of that.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Agent Carter,” he says, and goes inside.

_ii._

The red dress was an obvious signal, one that even Steve would have to pick up on. Peggy refuses to admit that the next day’s outfit - a simple blouse and pencil skirt - had similarly flattering elements. They’re practical clothing for a workday, a little break from her uniform, and that’s all.

Except that she does feel just a brief flare of excitement as she comes around the corner to bring Steve over to Howard’s workshop… A flare which is doused as she sees Private Lorraine right up against Steve.

But then she looks closer.

She’s seen Steve uncomfortable at this point - more than once, in fact - but never this much. He’s stammering, his shoulders tucked inward as if he wishes he could return to his former, less noticeable size. It’s a perfect storm, she thinks with pity, of a woman who wants something, and a man who has had no practice saying that he’s not interested.

“Hello, Steve, darling,” she calls out before she can think better of it.

The two of them snap toward her immediately. Lorraine takes a step back and Peggy thinks, _Good_ , with vicious satisfaction.

“Howard’s ready for you, so as long as you’re done with your conversation over here…”

“Yes!” He edges away from where he’d been cornered and walks toward Peggy, straightening his uniform. “It’s good to see you,” he says, thankfully canny enough not to sound too desperate.

Peggy tucks her arm into his and says, casually, but loudly enough to be heard, “Well, I thought I’d come find you - we need to firm up plans for tonight…”

Around the corner, she moves back away from him, easily shifting back to professional as they near Howard’s area.

“I really appreciated that,” he says, surprising her. She had expected him to turn awkward and choose not to mention it.

“It might get around,” she warns. “Private Lorraine is a bit forward, as you saw.”

“I don’t have a problem with people knowing.” She tries not to make it too obvious, but she finds his blush quite endearing.

“And you should likely learn to turn down an advance,” she tells him clearly. She waves a hand toward him. “Considering…”

“Yeah.” He sounds slightly sad as he says, “I’m sure I’ll get a lot of ribbing for not taking advantage when women who wouldn’t have looked at me twice before do more than that now, but I’ll ask around for some advice.”

Howard comes over at a clip to show off his latest gadgets. Peggy says quickly, “Perhaps don’t ask Howard,” just as Steve says, “But maybe not him,” and they laugh.

Peggy gets a lot of glares around the base over the next few days which just confirms whom among her colleagues she wants to be friends with. She can’t quite bring herself to care, regardless.

_iii._

Peggy, it turns out, looks quite fetching in a kerchief. But Dernier reminds everyone in rapid French that just because the village is small, it does not mean that everyone is a rural peasant.

“Your normal hair will be fine,” he tells her, and goes off to tell the pilot that they’re ready.

They make the jump just after twilight. All three of them arrive safely on the ground, but that is their last bit of luck for a while. They land farther apart than intended, Steve’s chute is stuck in a tree and while he cuts himself out fairly easily, it’s a bear to collect the silk so that they leave no trace. And then they accidentally wander into a farmer’s land and are quickly nearly gored by a bull.

Their avoidance of such a fate is perhaps a second bit of luck, except: their escape is not exactly subtle, and as they collect themselves beneath a stand of trees, they hear footsteps and then the click of a flashlight and a voice saying in German-accented French, “Who’s there?”

This was meant to be a brief mission. The plan was for a quick surveillance of a site that had been rumored to be a HYDRA-affiliated lab (Jacques had admitted, shamefaced, that there were certainly ambitious French scientists who would mistake what was right for them with what was right), a rendezvous with a contact of Peggy’s, and then a return to SSR headquarters. Therefore, the costumes that they’d been given were meant to hold up to basic scrutiny at a distance, and they had developed barely a sketch of a cover story.

Steve automatically looks to Peggy, because typically if they’re in some trouble because of poor planning, she’s the one to pull them out. But instead, he hears Dernier’s voice.

“How dare you get in the way of true love!”

“Excuse me?” The crunching footsteps move closer, and finally they can see on the other end of the flashlight two soldiers in German uniforms.

“These two good people are from important families in the village who have been enemies for a century! And perhaps we will never know whether it is true that his great-grandfather truly ordered a horse or if her great-grandfather was right to deliver a mule, but it no longer matters. Because as soon as they saw each other when they came to help the schoolchildren prepare for the annual picnic, they knew that no other would do.”

“Perhaps this is the new Romeo and Juliet,” says the taller soldier with rough scepticism, “but then who are you?”

Dernier draws himself up. “I am their priest, of course.” This, naturally, surprises Steve: Dernier has been a firm atheist since 1928, and typically when asked his religion will proudly respond, “French.” But when Steve looks more closely, he finds that Dernier has tucked his white kerchief into the collar of his black shirt and somehow in the dim light it approximates the look of a priest. “Their families would never have allowed a marriage in the village, so we are going to the church in the valley, and once there, we shall finalize the bond that no one will ever be able to break.”

 

Peggy, always quicker on the uptake, has been holding Steve’s hands in both of hers and looking nervous but besotted. By the time the flashlight has turned to examine them, however, Steve too has caught on. He has his arms around Peggy and is certain that his expression looks like an overly enthusiastic stage actor. But apparently he’s done a decent job, because the shorter soldier relaxes a bit and, waving a hand, says, “Move along, then. Have your romance.”

They walk for a few moments before doubling back and finding the two soldiers again. It turns out that the HYDRA outpost is not just a rumor. It also turns out that Dernier can make quite a large explosion using only minimal materials.

Years later, when the mission file has been declassified, a television episode will be made focusing on the incident. Peggy will be fawning and practically invisible, Steve will speak fluent French while for some reason wearing his Captain America uniform beneath his disguise, and Dernier will do nothing but cackle when blowing things up.

A historical group will write in protest of the accuracy, but they shouldn’t really have bothered: it changes nothing, and honestly, what Steve himself remembers most strongly is Peggy in his arms for the first time.

_iv._

After three weeks in the field with what she estimates was an average of three hours sleep a night, a wet cloth the closest substitute for a bath, and an impromptu field surgery to remove a rotten molar from Dugan, all Peggy wants when they reach the small base in the north of England is to collapse into bed. Even an army cot would feel like a palace at this point, but she’s even denied that: there are no women’s bunks where the rest of the Commandos are being billeted and the commander refuses to let her stay even in a room alone.

“Let’s see when the next train is,” Steve says when it’s been made clear to them that the men are welcome to stay, but if Peggy is given a bed there, they will all be turned out. “We’ll get everyone back in their boots in just a minute.”

But Peggy, watching Jones dunk nearly his whole head into a basin of water and Morita lying back fully clothed with an arm over his eyes, already snoring, demurs. There’s no reason to tear all the rest of them away just because she isn’t allowed.

She goes to the village and asks around, and is eventually pointed to the town’s one guest house. The building itself is lovely: sprawling and neatly arranged, with what Peggy would guess are lovely bedrooms if she could actually get inside one of them. But instead, when she is nearly ready to lie down in the foyer, she meets what she expects is the base commander’s sister, a pointed woman who, when Peggy requests a room, indicates a placard beside the desk: _Gentlemen and married couples **only**_.

Peggy tries politeness first. “I’m here on important war work, and they don’t have accommodations for me on the base,” she says calmly.

“Well then I’m sure your superiors share my concerns,” says the owner. The look of disapproval she aims toward Peggy’s uniform boils Peggy’s blood. She spent a childhood being shamed for acting ‘like the boys.’ Her memories of the years in which she suppressed herself in order to be accepted are pale, marked by a sadness that comes from little that actually happened during that time. Now she’s found a compromise, a way to be herself that’s been endorsed by the highest officials in the country, and still she is judged. She wants to tell this woman exactly what would be different had Peggy Carter been at home, tending the fires for a man, rather than using her skills to win this wretched war, but instead she just meets the other woman’s gaze head on.

“I’ll only be here for the night,” Peggy says, “and then I’ll be on the train to London in the morning.”

The woman snorts. “As if I don’t know what can happen in a night!” She folds her arms, her elbows sticking out like pokers. “A young girl can sneak a man in here and be ruined in a night. With a child in the equation, she can ruin three lives! My rules ensure propriety, a return to decency which has been sorely lacking these past years.”

There’s so much wrong with this logic, that for a moment Peggy, her brain already slowed, can’t think of anything to say. Luckily she avoids the statements which would almost certainly get her ejected (that babies born out of wedlock weren’t begun with the invasion of Poland, and certainly didn’t have to be the end of the world; that two gentlemen could get up to some behavior that she would certainly find shocking). Instead she takes a breath and points out, “I could be a married woman traveling alone, and of equal virtue to a man traveling in the same state.”

“But you aren’t,” snaps the woman, and instead of feeling like a victory for Peggy, it seems like the beginning of a slow road to defeat. “You’re just another of those liberated army girls. You haven’t got a husband any more than I do.”

“I guess that leaves me feeling pretty useless,” says a voice from the doorway behind them.

The army uniform has always flattered Steve, but just now, with the last of the sunset catching on his hair and the medals on his jacket, the shadows beneath his own eyes concealed, he looks quite heroic.

“Hello, darling,” Peggy says, strangely comforted by the return to a familiar scenario, if only this charade that they seem to keep falling into. “I hadn’t realized you’d be given leave to be able to meet me, but it’s very convenient. We were just having a bit of a misunderstanding.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Steve asks, striding over. He seems in his element not because this is a situation calling for a man to take over, making declarations, but because he has experience standing up to people who are too stuck in particular ideas of how things should be done.

“As I was just explaining, this is a respectable establishment and we have some rules,” says the lady behind the desk, with only a brief pause. She still sounds sour, but perhaps actually a bit shaken too. “We don’t allow rooms to women traveling alone, such as your...wife?”

“It seems to me that women traveling alone are the ones you should be jumping to rent rooms to,” Steve says blandly, “especially if you’re worried about the respectability of the youth, but I guess it doesn’t matter, because she’s actually part of a married couple.”

And when he puts his hands on top of the desk to pull the guest book toward himself, Peggy sees that he is indeed wearing a wedding ring on his left hand. The owner, growing more shriveled by the moment, stares at it.

“My wife wears hers on a chain,” Steve says idly, as if just noticing her gaze. “It’s safer in case of accident or capture.” He nods over at Peggy and she pulls a chain forward from around her neck, the crest of Michael’s school ring concealed by her hand so the visible piece looks plausibly like a wedding band. She hadn’t even known Steve had been aware that she wore it.

The room is indeed lovely when they’re finally shown up to it: a large bed, soft, brightly colored linens, an adjoining bathroom with an enormous clawfoot bathtub that nearly makes Peggy want to return to church. The only blemish is their hostess, who takes them through their brief tour with gritted teeth and glowers her way out the door as if she’d still like to demand their marriage certificate and three witnesses including a member of clergy.

“How did you know I was here?” Peggy asks as soon as they’re alone. “And where on earth did you get that ring?”

“I mentioned to one of the guys at the base that one of us had to go find a room in town and he said, ‘Hope it’s not a lady,’” he says, his British accent an absolute abomination, Cockney mixed with bear by way of New York. “I borrowed his ring in exchange.”

Peggy laughs, collapsing into the pretty paisley armchair with no intention of getting up, although both the bed and bathtub look tempting in the extreme.

“I can probably climb down,” Steve says from where he’s looking out the drapes onto the low roof and the lawn below. “Just tell her that I had to go back on duty.”

“And have her turn me out again?” Peggy yawns. “As long as the boys are covering for you to avoid an AWOL charge, just stay here until morning.”

“You sure it won’t make you uncomfortable?” Steve says, and he sounds sincere, as if he truly would scale down the building and return to the barracks if she wanted him gone.

Instead she waves a hand and says, “I’ll likely be asleep as soon as I climb into bed. You could indulge your passion for can-can dancing and I’d be none the wiser.”

But she finds, after she has splashed water over her face and arms, and brushed her hair and teeth in a bid for some minimal feeling of cleanliness, after she has stripped to her slip (she pulls it off well but the uniform isn’t exactly built for comfort) and climbed under the coverlet beside Steve in his undershirt and trousers, that she can’t fall asleep.

“How ridiculous that I’ve been treated more fairly fighting against the Nazis than I have been trying to pay good money for a room in my own country,” Peggy says, and although she tries to keep her voice even and perhaps joking, the true heart of her disappointment seeps through. “Although at this point I likely shouldn’t be surprised.”

“One day it won’t be like this,” Steve says firmly. “You’re going to change that.”

She shakes her head. “I have a life to live and things to do. I haven’t the time to change everyone’s mind.”

He props himself up and turns to face her. “Every time a little girl sees you in your uniform, she thinks that maybe it could be her one day. And maybe she doesn’t want to be a soldier, she wants to be a professor or a doctor or the owner of her own bed and breakfast that serves single ladies only, but she sees a woman doing something that her mother and grandmother never even got to try, and it plants the seed in her mind.” She thinks that she can see his eyes glimmering in the dark. “Peggy, you’re changing things just by being you.”

She kisses him. There’s nothing else to be done.

“Is this alright?” she asks when he pulls away.

Shakily, he says, “I was just going to ask the same thing.”

“Of course,” she says, surprised. She can’t believe he can’t feel the giddiness that’s overtaken her, completely separate from the peak of exhaustion. “I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And besides—” She leans close. “It’s alright. You’re my husband, after all.”

He laughs, and she cuts him off with another kiss.

_v._

Peggy has some nursing experience, but she’s no match for the barrel-shaped woman in the nurse’s cap before her. It’s not because Peggy is disheveled, or because everything inside of her has been askew since she got Howard’s call - she could have pushed her aside despite all of that. But this woman reminds her of Rose back at SSR headquarters, overlooked and underestimated but like she knows where the nearest machine gun is located and how to access it.

Good. That’s exactly who Peggy wants guarding this particular door.

She calms enough to say politely, “I’m here to see Steve Rogers. I’m his wife,” and notices the nurse’s eyes widen just a bit. How strange: it doesn’t even feel foreign anymore, nor like a lie.

“We’ve been expecting you. Identification please?”

Peggy hands over her passport. It seems a strange precaution to allow them to know her real identity but not Steve’s, to fake a relationship but give this facility unlimited access to Steve’s actual body. It’s all part of the compromise Phillips struck with his superiors. The army technically had the rights to Steve whenever he was found and in whatever condition, and could control who could see him. But when Howard had found a heartbeat for the first time, Phillips stepped in to say that even prisoners of war get access to the Red Cross and Steve Rogers would be allowed visits by his wife, Peggy Carter. And when some paper-pushing corporal had brought up that they had no record of Steve Rogers ever having been married, Phillips had said that he had himself been in attendance at their small ceremony in England seven months ago and it wasn’t his fault that they couldn’t keep track of files on even their most valuable soldiers.

“I’m sure you’re aware that this is a special case,” the nurse tells Peggy as she guides her back through a maze of hallways. “We aren’t entirely certain about anything, but we’re doing our best, and we’re fairly certain he’s stable.”

“Thank you,” Peggy says, managing to sound calm. She appreciates the honesty, but the fact that they are even admitting to uncertainty makes her feel as if they are on shaky footing.

Steve, when she sees him, looks the same as ever, only deeply asleep. She moves his hair off of his forehead and sits beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him quietly. She stays for two hours, catching him up on everything he’s missed as doctors and nurses come in to monitor him every so often. Finally, she wipes her eyes, picks up her handbag, and goes to leave her contact information with the nurse.

She returns the next afternoon, slipping out of work precisely at 5, and repeats the same process: handing over her identification, even though the same nurse is on duty, being shown back to Steve’s room, and filling the space with quiet chat for a few hours.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says, squeezing Steve’s hand before she leaves, and she fully expects to. But instead she receives a midnight call and, making the always perilous egress from the ladies’ residence, catches a taxi through the darkened streets.

The nurse doesn’t bother with her passport this time, hurrying the two of them back rapidly. When they arrive, Peggy sees why: Steve has that stubborn set to his jaw, pushing close up against the doctor. That he hasn’t actually stood is both worrying and a relief.

“Peggy,” Steve says with deep gratitude as she walks in the door.

“I told you that we had called your wife,” protests the doctor, annoyed.

“Right,” Steve says absently. Peggy has joined him by the bed. She holds his face in her hands, looking him over, carefully meeting his eyes.

“You were gone six months,” she tells him. “This is an army facility, in New York. You were found a week ago and brought here as fast as possible. Howard’s been looking after you, between a dozen other things.”

Steve rests his hands on her wrists, so gentle, and she wants to cry. “Peg,” he says quietly, “can you maybe track me down a pair of pants? I know my legs aren’t really working yet, but I’ve had enough of showing off in a hospital gown for one lifetime.”

The tears are technically from the laughter that bubbles up and out of her, but not entirely. Nevertheless, it’s primarily joy in her voice when she responds, “Of course, my darling. Anything for you.”

_vi._

They’ve barely left the ceremony dedicating a new military hospital in Bucky’s honor, and Morita is already yanking his tie loose while Dugan bellows for a drink.

“We’ve got a reservation,” Steve assures him, missing Bucky and the way he’d always kept everyone in line. “We just have to make one stop along the way.”

The photo shop is convenient from the hospital, the apartment, and the restaurant where they’re headed. Not for the first time, Steve blesses Peggy’s logical, big-picture thinking. If it had been up to him, he’d probably be racing to pick up the photos after lunch only to find the shop was on the other side of town and closed for the day.

“I’m here to pick up some pictures for my wife,” Steve tells the man at the counter, and waits for the envelope to be fetched.

“Let’s see them,” Dugan demands as soon as they’re in hand, and begins dividing the pictures up for the boys to look at.

Gabe starts it all this time. “That’s strange,” he says, looking at a snapshot taken on their recent trip to the mountains upstate.

“What’s strange?” Steve asks dutifully. He’d known this was coming, as much as he hoped to avoid it.

“I think you must’ve gotten the wrong pictures,” says Morita.

“How’s that?” Steve says with a sigh.

“Well, I’m certain that this can’t be your wife, Captain, because that’s Agent Carter in each of these photos. You’ll recall of course that we fought a war with the both of you, and if you two were to have actually gotten married, we certainly would have been invited,” Monty says with placid logic.

Dernier, who it turns out has always spoken English albeit with a _very_ strong accent (they didn’t find out until after the war, when they could all speak at least basic French), says, “Of course not all of our invitations could have been lost by the mail, so this must be business,” and Morita adds, “Yeah, Cap, tell us what’s up with this charade.”

“If they’re giving her problems with being a Brit and working for the Feds, I’m sure Phillips could pull some strings,” Gabe points out. “Or Howard.”

“Hell, I’ll go down to Washington myself and tell them how much Peg helped us in the field while they were sitting on their fat asses,” Dugan says, rubbing a palm against his fist.

“And while we all know that you were always sweet on her, there’s certainly no need to force her to persist with some sort of sham marriage merely to allow her to keep doing her job here.” Monty again. He’s struggling to keep a straight face; he’s always the first to go.

“It’s been five years, fellas,” Steve protests. “How much longer are you going to keep bringing it up?”

The Commandos look at each other. “Stark’s working on time travel, right?” says Dugan. “He’s pretty smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to get back in time soon to fix things.”

Steve rolls his eyes, although not without a bit of guilt. He and Peggy (but mostly he, as the boys are apparently suitably frightened of Peggy that she doesn’t have to put up with anything but slight ribbing) have been apologizing to those insulted by their lack of invitation to the wedding, which was everyone, practically since it happened. Steve had been surprised by how touchy Phillips still seemed about it, acting especially gruffly affronted when their anniversary came around again.

“We were keeping it small,” Steve tells them once again. It’s what he and Peggy always say. Neither one of them wants to admit to anyone else that they were really concerned that they wouldn’t be able to make it official before some other disaster drew them apart again.

The restaurant is up ahead, and a woman in a blue patterned summer dress stands near the doorway with a newspaper in hand. Steve picks up his pace.

“Now we’ll get a real answer,” Morita says as they approach.

Peggy folds her paper with a smile and kisses Steve briefly but firmly on the mouth. “The wedding debate again?” she asks, falling into step with the group. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to invite you all to the next one.”

“Something you need to tell me?” Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow.

She pats his arm. “It could be you up there with me, but only if you pull up your socks a bit. The chili you made last night wasn’t quite up to the standard to which I’m accustomed, so I’m considering other applicants.”

Dugan says, “I’ll be your best man, no matter which sucker you’ve got on your arm,” and starts a clamor of volunteering and elbowing between the rest.

“Hey!” says Steve, cutting them off. “I’m always going to be the sucker on her arm.”

“Damn right,” Peggy adds, and hand in hand they enter the restaurant.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://missmudpie.tumblr.com/post/161450288185). Prompt for the day: Tropes and Cliches


End file.
